Listening to every heart
Last Night With Dickens
You know how it is, being open to all deep thoughts
especially when you’ve read of life’s tragedies brought
to the forefront by authors now long since dead and gone
and you wonder and ponder what ‘twas pushed them on.
And it was
By candlelight and quill pen the writers thus wrote
with sheaves of papers, did all first thoughts denote
the exact proper phrase, or were rewrites a given?
Ah, to be transported back, and see them all living.
‘Twas “Charles” I’d been reading, copyright 1962
and a young lady wrote there all that she knew
of Dickens life, as if there by his side was she,
and as if by a moment’s magic, I was pulled in to see
(oh how life is)
That Dickie’s life was platted out while he was young
and even while a child, he perceived things had begun
long before he was of an age to have experienced thus,
the life forces with which he would become so entrussed.
Fascinated, I saw
His wife, dear Kate, kept closed her intellect’s door
while her adept sister, Mary, loved Charlie even more,
so thus he kept them both close, their spirits he adored
while he kept writing, writing, writing ever more.
I watched as
During the worthy times, pending the destitute days
he always found that he had something to say
and say it he did, his quill writing furiously now
his words a panacea, as he mopped at his brow.
Quiet desperation, love,
But when his Mary died, his suffering became despair
and I felt heartsick for him, tho bigotry he dared
right in front of his wife, beautiful, sweet, solemn Kate,
the two so needed in his life, bigotry his welcome mate.
Last night Charlie came, he beckoned unto me
and in my dream, I thought then that I could see
his frock coat so, his broadcloth so purely white
he said “So, I understand your dream is then to write.”
Thus, I replied
“Yes, sir, but your talented ways, those I have not,
so you see, all I have before me, is all that I have got
and while it is not going to change the world as you have done,
I’ll still give my talent some room to play and run.”
Said Charlie, so kind,
“Well, keep it up, do a slap-up job” and Charlie, with a nod,
flowed from my dreams, his vision blurred, then softly bobbed
now out of sight, gone, but not ever again out of mind
for his true life story touched me deeply in kind.
and the epilogue,
With my apologies to Charlie, and to all of you
and my thanks, and prayers, that none of you will rue
the day I came to visit here, and with you here I share
my dreams, my hopes, and all the expressions that I dare.
29 August, 1999
Words will always express our feelings true. ~~~ KRJ
Look, then, into thine heart, and write ~~~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow